


lean on me (when you're not strong)

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Loneliness, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>hanamaki is a very lonely child, so he does what any lonely seven-year-old would do, he makes himself a friend</p>
            </blockquote>





	lean on me (when you're not strong)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nein](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nein/gifts).



> hello! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i've enjoyed writing it, it was a treat to write for you <3

Hanamaki Takahiro is a very lonely child.

He’s a very loved child, but a lonely one all the same because, understandably, a _military_ base on the moon isn’t really the most child-friendly environment. In between waving his parents off on the viewing platform, watching as their ship shoots off into space, heading for new and uncharted galaxies and planets (always with the promise of taking him along ‘ _once you’re old enough_ ’) and following them around the base when they’re home, badgering them endlessly about their missions and the things they see, Hanamaki spends most of his time alone or in the company of people several times his own age.

Still, he makes do and does what every other lonely child in desperate need for friends his own age (because the scientists and engineers who are more than happy to watch him while his parents are away don’t really count, do they?) - he makes his own.

Except, where other lonely seven-year-olds might fabricate an imaginary friend to serve as a makeshift companion, Hanamaki goes one step further. Because you just _don’t_ have two parents as two members of the world's leading Interstellar Exploration Team and spend most of your time in the company of scientists and engineers and _not_ pick up a few things, do you?

Hanamaki is seven-years-old when he builds his first robot.

It’s the result of long evenings spent huddled under his blankets with a torch after lights out, flipping through the textbooks he’s managed to steal from his father’s office, trying to make sense of the phrases and diagrams printed onto the pages and sneaking into the workshop when everyone else is asleep because that’s the only time he gets to fiddle with things like wrenches and screws and _blowtorches_ without hearing someone scold him about the possibility of hurting himself playing with things he doesn’t understand.

Four months later - and countless bruises and burns, and more late nights than he can even remember anymore - he finishes it. It’s a shabby little thing, made from spare parts he manages to filch from the garbage when the base is quiet at night, and it’s certainly not going to win him any awards, but he’s proud of it.

His parents smile when he excitedly brandishes the finished product in their faces one evening, mumbling words that sound a lot like ‘ _genius_ ’ and _‘natural talent_ ’ when they pass their colleagues in the corridor and he thinks they’re a little proud too.

He takes it everywhere he goes and, soon enough, the entire base becomes accustomed to seeing ‘ _sweet_ _little Takahiro_ ’ running around the base while his scruffy little robot made from scrap metal and held together with glue and the kind of determination only a lonely seven-year-old could muster up trails slowly behind.

It doesn’t talk and it doesn’t have a face (unless you count the crudely drawn eyes and nose Hanamaki hastily sticks to its front one evening after deciding staring at the rusted iron is just a _little_ too creepy) but it communicates in its own way, beeping and whirring whenever Hanamaki talks to it or gives it a command and, for a while, that’s good enough. It’s almost like having a friend to ward away the sense of loneliness he feels whenever he waves goodbye to his parents on the viewing platform.

Almost.

Because, while it's a comforting presence beside him, beeping and whirring as it trails slowly around after him, there's always something _missing_. His robot can't hold his hand and sing him silly songs when he finds it hard to get to sleep at night, it can't hoist him up onto its shoulders and run around the base with him, it can't cuddle up to him late at night and tell him stories about far away planets until he falls asleep and dreams of bright stars and even brighter worlds.

When it eventually - and inevitably - beeps its last beep and whirs its last whir, Hanamaki doesn't fret. Instead, he takes himself back to his father's workshop, armed with a pile of textbooks that tower over him, his own set of tools, and a clearer vision than before, and he _creates_.

  


It doesn't take long for Hanamaki to develop a reputation around the base, because even among several hundred of Earth's _best and brightest_ , it's still a little unorthodox (and _more_ than a little impressive) to watch a small child - the _only_ child on the base - create his own friends in the form of robots made from naught but scrap metal and determination.

He loses count of how many he makes over the years, the novelty wearing thin sometime between the tenth and the fifteenth failure.

"They're not _failures_ ," his mother tuts disapprovingly, watching as Hanamaki hops down from the workbench and tugs away his goggles so he can stare critically at the pile of metal and wiring lying across it.

He's twelve now, and his robots are no longer made from scrap metal and they're a little more advanced than his first attempt five years ago, but there's still something missing.

"Then what are they?" Hanamaki asks, sighing a little as he fumbles around for his log book so he can note down today's observations. "Because it sure feels that way."

His mother hums quietly as she pushes herself up from her seat and makes her way towards the work bench so she can prod and poke at the half-formed robot lying slumped across it. His days of sneaking scrap metal from the garbage to make his robots have been over for a few years now and this robot is sleek and shiny and, ultimately, not what he wants. He follows his mother's gaze as she takes in tubes and rods and wires that protrude at awkward angles from the half-formed torso. Watches as she presses a hand against its knee and listens to the way it _whirs_ and _creaks_ when it moves. It's one hell of an improvement on his first scrap metal robot all those years ago, but it's still not quite there - it's still too foreign, too _artificial_ , for Hanamaki's liking.

"Steps," she says eventually, taking her attention away from the robot to glance at her son, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "They're steps."

Hanamaki frowns. "Steps?"

She nods. "They're not what you want them to be just yet, but you'll get there. One day soon, and these," she gestures around his workspace, nodding at the shelves and cupboards filled to the brim with broken and half-abandoned projects, he's managed to accumulate over the years. "These are the steps you have to take to get you there."

  


He's sixteen when he takes the final step.

Sixteen and no longer the youngest on the base and no longer so lonely that he needs to build his own friends, but still just as determined as he was when he was seven-years-old.

There's a crowd forming around him because word has quickly spread around the base that he's _close -_ Close to a breakthrough and ending what has been nearly a decade of hard work and perseverance - and, understandably, people are intrigued.

He ignores them all, blocking out their breathless _ooh_ 's and _aah's_ and whispers about things that contain phrases like ' _revolutionary_ ' and ' _first of its kind_ '. Instead, he focuses his attention on his workbench - more specifically, the man sitting slumped on top of it.

Except, he's not a man - not really. But it's hard to believe that the bones under the smooth skin are artificial, and it's not veins and blood that course around his body, but wires and _electricity_.

Hanamaki inches closer, lifting a hand to bat away a stray strand of curly brown hair from his face, taking in the sharp lines and relaxed curve of his lips. He takes a deep breath and reaches behind the back of his neck, fumbling for a second or two until the smooth skin is interrupted by a tiny patch of cold metal. After a second of hesitation, Hanamaki presses the small button and takes a quick step backwards.

At first, nothing happens, but then the man on the bench _stirs_ and Hanamaki finds himself staring into impossibly warm brown eyes, instead of the cold static he's become accustomed to from his creations over the years.

Behind him, Hanamaki can hear the soft gasps coming from his onlookers, but he can't focus on them right now. He can only focus on the man - ? - in front of him, peering curiously down at his soft and smooth limbs, void of any of the clunkiness and noise you would expect from a _machine_ coming to life.

"Hi," Hanamaki says eventually, voice dryer than usual.

He looks up at him then, curly brown hair ruffling slightly as he cocks his head to the side. For what feels like an eternity, there's only silence and Hanamaki's sure he's made a mistake, that this one, like all the rest, will just be another step towards this apparently unreachable goal.

And then—

His lips, pink and slightly chapped, split into a small grin as he reaches forwards and extends a hand towards Hanamaki. "Hey."

  


He names him his ‘ _Modified Android Trained in Support and Universal Kindness, Awareness and Widespread Affability as an Intelligent Synthetic Support and Empathy Individual_ ’ or, because that's a bit of a mouthful to get through every time, Matsukawa Issei for short.

  


If he's honest with himself, he'd always assumed he'd feel more _satisfied_ once he'd reached his goal. It's been in his periphery for almost a decade, just too far out of reach for him to grab yet, now that it's here, he's not quite sure what he's supposed to do.

Or how he's supposed to be feel.

His parents aren't home to congratulate him - away on yet another mission, exploring a distant galaxy - and won't be for at _least_ another week, and he feels that familiar sensation of loneliness slowly creeping back up on him.

Except— Except, this time, he's not alone.

Hanamaki bites down on his bottom lip and spares Matsukawa a sideways glance. He's settled himself on Hanamaki's desk chair and is curiously peering around the room, eyes wide with intrigue as he flicks through the textbooks piled high on Hanamaki's desk and softly humming as he takes in the posters that adorn the walls. Hanamaki supposes he should say something - to say _anything_ , because aside from their brief greeting earlier, very few words have passed between them - but his tongue feels heavy and his throat dry, so he settles for sinking into his mattress and looking anywhere but at Matsukawa.

That crippling feeling of loneliness is back with a vengeance and suddenly he's _not_ the confident sixteen-year-old who doesn't care that he spends most of his time in the company with people twice his age or who barely bats an eyelid whenever his parents jet off for the third time this month because he's _used to it_ . He's back being the shy and lonely seven-year-old, trying and failing to fill a companion shaped hole in his life with _machines_.

It was stupid, he realises as he flops back onto the bed with a sigh, reaching for a pillow to tug over his face. Stupid to think that this persistent feeling of loneliness could _ever_ be alleviated by a robot - even one that looks the way Matsukawa does. He groans and rolls over in the bed, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he's wasted almost _ten years_ of his life on this. On a failed experiment. _Stupid, stupid, Takahiro_.

"Are you alright?"

Later, he'll deny any such sound slipped from his lips, but Hanamaki _squeaks_ when he tugs the pillow away from his face to find Matsukawa hovering over him, a concerned frown marring his features. "What are you _doing_?" Hanamaki huffs, scrambling up to sit in an upright position. "Trying to give me a heart attack?"

Matsukawa's frown deepens slightly as he hesitantly plants himself on the edge of Hanamaki's bed. "You were making distressed noises. I was worried."

Hanamaki flushes a little. "You don't need to worry about me."

"It's my job," Matsukawa says easily. "Modified Android Trained in Support an—"

Despite himself, Hanamaki snorts. "I named you, I know what you stand for."

"Well," Matsukawa says softly, inching slightly closer towards Hanamaki. " _Are_ you alright?"

Hanamaki shrugs, fingers fumbling to grab ahold of the blanket underneath him. "I thought I'd feel different."

"Different how?"

He shrugs again, avoiding eye contact to trace the pattern on his blankets with his index finger. "Happy? Satisfied? Not so— Not so _lonely_ , I guess?"

Matsukawa hums and, for a moment, Hanamaki thinks that's going to be the end of their conversation, and he'll be free to wallow in his own self-pity for the rest of the night.

"Budge."

For the second time that night, Hanamaki _squeaks_ as he watches Matsukawa crawl up the bed, squeezing himself into the gap between Hanamaki and the wall like he belongs there.

"Again. _What are you doing_?"

Matsukawa doesn't answer right away, instead, he wiggles down in the bed, tugging the blankets up to his chin before he lies down on the pillow and turns to face Hanamaki. "Tell me about your parents."

Hanamaki blinks. "Tell you about my parents?"

Matsukawa nods, thick curls spilling across his forehead before he reaches up to bat them away. "What are they like?"

"I—" Hanamaki pauses, feeling his brows twist into a confused frown as he stares at Matsukawa. He _knows_ Matsukawa knows the answer to his question because he distinctly remembers programming him with basic information about his general life and family, and yet—

There's a look in Matsukawa's eye, an earnest look that seems to _human_ it actually throws Hanamaki for a second or two. He _genuinely_ wants to know the answer to his question, wants to hear the words come from Hanamaki's lips as opposed to extracting the data from his hard drive.

Hanamaki's not sure why, but it's a comforting realisation.

His lips twitch up into a smile as he shifts position in the bed, so he's lying on his side and can get a better look at Matsukawa's curious expression. "You'll meet them soon, they're away on a mission right now."

Matsukawa eyes widen curiously. "A mission doing what?"

And they keep going like this - Hanamaki informing Matsukawa about every last detail in his life, with Matsukawa hanging on to every word, making comments, laughing and asking _more_ questions as he goes - until Hanamaki feels his eyelids start to flutter shut and he finds himself drifting, squashed up against Matsukawa's chest, listening to the steady _thrum_ of his artificial heartbeat.

  


"I'm _just_ saying," Matsukawa hums, an amused grin tugging at his lips. "Rocket launchers would _definitely_ not go amiss."

Hanamaki quirks a brow. "I'm not giving you rocket launchers."

"Alright, alright. What about laser beam vision?"

"No."

"Ability to fly?"

"I'm _this_ close to turning you off and using you as an over decorated coat rack."

At this, Matsukawa presses a hand against his chest where his heart would be, an action he's picked up from Hanamaki's dramatics over the years. "So cruel. So _heartless_."

"I'm literally a second away from turning you into a walking WiFi router."

" _Heartless_."

Even during moments like these, where Matsukawa is sat sprawled on Hanamaki's workbench, wires poking out of him and without an arm as Hanamaki holds up possible replacements to it, trying to see which one will be the best fit, it's easy to forget that Matsukawa isn't human.

And it's not just because Hanamaki is _exceptionally_ good at what he does and Matsukawa _looks_ every bit the human Hanamaki designed him to be - with warm skin, warm eyes, and an even warmer smile - it's because Matsukawa is _special_ in a way Hanamaki doesn't know how to describe.

The next two years are spent learning each other and growing together, with Hanamaki doing so naturally (with puberty and acne breakouts and growth spurts that make his parents sigh when he tells them his trousers are riding up too high at the ankles and could they _maybe_ increase his allowance so he can order some more in time for the next delivery from Earth) and Matsukawa not so naturally (with Hanamaki diligently tugging him towards his workshop and replacing his parts every few months, giving him a deeper voice and longer legs and broader shoulders and wider palms and, once, during a particular bad spell during Hanamaki's later teen years, even _acne_ because ' _if I have to suffer through it, so do you_!'

He's eighteen now and somewhere along the way, Matsukawa becomes something - becomes _someone_ \- incredibly important to him.

"So that's no to the rocket launchers and no to the laser beam vision," Matsukawa says, watching as Hanamaki attaches his arm with a soft grunt. "And where are we on giving me thinner eyebrows, can I ask?"

"I've _told_ you," Hanamaki laughs, clicking the arm into place before he gently swings it backwards to make sure everything works like it's supposed to. "The eyebrows give you _character_."

  


He doesn't really notice that he's not lonely anymore. He doesn't really have the _time_ to notice the absence of loneliness constantly tugging at his heart these days.

" _Hey_ ," Matsukawa says sharply, reaching forwards to prod Hanamaki's forehead with his index finger. "Stop slacking."

They're holed up in his tiny bedroom, surrounded by mountains of textbooks and notepads filled with messy writing and too many cans of energy drinks to be entirely healthy and Hanamaki thinks he's about five seconds away from short circuiting.

"I give up," Hanamaki groans, dramatically slamming his textbook ( _The Ethics of Interstellar Exploration, edition 3_ ) shut and sliding it across the floor to join the growing pile of Books Hanamaki Never Intends On Picking Up Again. "I give up. If I don't know it by now, I never will."

Matsukawa snorts and reaches forwards to pick up the discarded textbook, easily flipping to the page Hanamaki was last on. He shoves the book under Hanamaki's nose and allows his best stern expression to flit over his features. " _Read_."

" _No_ ," Hanamaki whines, swatting away the book. "Let me sleep. We've been up for _hours_ —"

"You've been up for twenty minutes. You're still in your pyjamas."

"We been up for _hours_ ," Hanamaki continues, shooting Matsukawa a pointed glare. "I need to recharge my batteries."

"Firstly," Matsukawa says, shoving the book under Hanamaki's nose again. "Stupid phrase, not even _I_ have to recharge my batteries. Secondly, your exam is _tomorrow_."

Hanamaki pulls a face but reluctantly snatches the book from Matsukawa's hands. "Since when did you become so _naggy_ ? Do you have a bug? Do I need to reprogram you? Maybe add a 'must never ever, _ever_ , bug Hanamaki about studying' command?"

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, gently bumping Hanamaki with his shoulder as he settles down next to him. "You don't need to be nervous, you know?"

Hanamaki sighs, dropping the book again - though, this time, Matsukawa doesn't reach for it. "There's a lot of pressure on me," he mumbles, fiddling with a piece of stray string on his pyjama pants. "To get into the programme and follow my parent's footsteps and—"

A pleasant sigh slips from his lips as Matsukawa drapes an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close. It's moments like _this_ where Hanamaki finds himself forgetting the difference between them. Moments where the only thing he can focus on is how warm and _safe_ he feels nestled beside Matsukawa.

"Also," he swallows. "Losing you."

Matsukawa blinks down at him. "Why would you lose me?"

Hanamaki shrugs, still determinedly toying with the string on his pants. "We'd be separated, wouldn't we? It'd be like me with my parents. I'll be jetting off every other and week and you'll— You'll be left here."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"I could come with you?"

Hanamaki jerks forwards, nearly slipping out of Matsukawa's grasp. " _What_?"

Matsukawa taps the textbook sliding out of Hanamaki's lap. "I'll do the exam, pass with flying colours, probably become your superi— _Ouch_."

"That didn't hurt," Hanamaki mumbles, lips twitching upwards into a grin as he pulls back to glance properly up at Matsukawa. "And, you'd do that? Really? Because it's a _pretty_ tough exam and I just don't know if you have what it takes."

Matsukawa quirks a brow. "Are you indirectly insulting your own intelligence there?"

 _Shit_.

Matsukawa laughs - and here's the thing with Matsukawa's laugh: it's, probably, the greatest thing Hanamaki has ever heard - and throws his head back, arms tightening slightly around Hanamaki's side to pull him in closer. "So, this is happening?"

"I think so," Hanamaki nods, leaning into Matsukawa's embrace. "Hanamaki and his trusty sidekic— _Oww_."

"Didn't hurt," Matsukawa teases, sticking his tongue out a little.

"Hanamaki and Matsukawa travelling the galaxy together," he hums, picturing them squashed together in their ship, visiting far away worlds and galaxies. "It'd be fun right?"

Matsukawa's lips twitch up into a smile that is so _human_ \- so _real_ \- it makes Hanamaki's heart stop for a beat or two. "Right."

 

 

He's twenty-three when they die.

Twenty-three and a fully fledged member of the world's leading Interstellar Exploration Team in his own right and a far cry from the lonely seven-year-old child he once was.

An asteroid collision, he's told. Irreparable damage done to the hull of their ship, he's told. Unavoidable, he's told.  _We're all very sorry_ , he's told.

He's twenty-three when his parents die, surrounded by colleagues and friends and people who _love_ him, yet Hanamaki doesn't think he's ever felt so  _alone_.

Though, he supposes that's partly his fault. 

He locks himself away in his room, hidden away from sympathetic stares and well-meaning words of condolences, because - as much as he tries - he can't  _take_ it.

He jolts suddenly, quickly (and uselessly) wiping at his eyes as the door to his bedroom is shoved open and Matsukawa walks in. "I'm  _fine_ ," he croaks, stubbornly ignoring the way his voice  _cracks_ and shakes, letting them both know he's lying. "I'm  _fine_. You don't— You don't have to stay."  
  
Because, as much as he hates to admit it, Matsukawa is the _last_ person he wants to see right now. His parents are dead and he's never felt so alone and he doesn't want - doesn't  _need_ \- companionship in the form of a machine  _he's_ programmed to comfort him. He needs something real, something _genuine_ , because what they have? It's not real. 

It's never been real. Matsukawa is, and has always been, what  _Hanamaki's_ programmed him to be, and he doesn't need that right now.

"Is that what you really think?"

Hanamaki jolts again as Matsukawa crouches down in front of him. " _Please_ , just g—" He chokes on his words as Matsukawa leans forwards and wraps his arm around him, pulling him easily into his lap without a second thought.

"You're giving yourself too much credit," Matsukawa murmurs, shifting so his back is against the wall with Hanamaki sat in his lap. "You  _programmed_ me to learn."

"I programmed you to  _comfort_ ," Hanamaki sniffs, burying his face in Matsukawa's chest, trying not to think about how  _nice_ it feels. How  _safe_ it feels.

 _This isn't real_ , he tells himself.  _This isn't real_.

"And why can't it be genuine?" Matsukawa asks, hand gently running up Hanamaki's back, thumb rubbing soothing circles as he goes. "I'm not here because you  _programmed_ me to be," he continues, voice dipping just a little. "I have— I don't know if it's what you'd call  _free will_ , exactly but— But, I'm here because I want to be. I'm here for you."

Hanamaki  _shakes_ , the tears falling freely as he clings onto Matsukawa's shirt tightly because he feels nice and safe and like  _home_.

Matsukawa holds him a little tighter. "And I always will be."

 

 

"You don't need to  _cry_."

Hanamaki purses his lips, shoots Matsukawa a glare, and continues on working.

"Seriously," Matsukawa sighs. "I'm  _fine_."

Hanamaki takes a step backwards, takes in Matsukawa's broken and battered form lying across the worktable, arms missing from the elbows down, legs missing from the knee onwards, wires twisting and sparking violently in the air.

"Stop crying," Matsukawa says again, voice a little softer this time as he turns his head - about the only thing he  _can_ move in this state - to meet his gaze. "I'm fine."

"You're in  _pieces_ ," Hanamaki mumbles, tugging his tools from his bag. "I thought— When they said you'd been  _injured_ , I thought—"

"I'm sorry."

Hanamaki shakes his head, sliding forwards on his seat until he's sitting directly opposite Matsukawa. He reaches out hesitantly and runs a hand through his hair. "I thought I'd lost you too."

Matsukawa's expression softens and Hanamaki gets the distinct impression that if he'd had usage of his arms, he'd be using them to pull him against his chest. "I already said you didn't have to worry about that, didn't I?"

Hanamaki smiles, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Matsukawa's, fingers threading themselves into his hair. "That you did."

 

**Author's Note:**

> /lies down  
> do you know how long it took me to think of an acronym for matsukawa's name that made even 5% sense??? do you know??? 
> 
> answer; far too long for what i eventually came up with, f a r t o o l o n g


End file.
